Blonde Similarities
by ChronicallyinFlaming
Summary: Months after Cell's defeat, Bulma is asked for advice on a matter. K/18, minor B/V.


**Blonde Similarities**

Only after Bulma tore open the door and threatened to literally murder him did, that she would literally cut him into tiny pieces and feed him to one of the dinosaurs that roamed the premises, that she realized who she was actually yelling at. The screams faltered in her throat, and she stared at a wet eyed grown man. His lower lip trembled pathetically.

_To be fair though, it's not like he's a lot taller than those kids. _

"Krillin?"

She'd yelled at him too many times for this to be the reason he was so upset. But you didn't need to be a (beautiful) genius to put the pieces together. Between them gaped a looming, ridiculously spiky-haired, man-child shaped hole. Her heart twisted, remembering a short boy who ate just about everything, and didn't know the difference between a girl and a boy.

Tears clung to his eyelashes.

Outside the porch, the dark clouds were gathered to release another outpouring of rain onto everyone unfortunate enough to be out in this weather. Krillin's wet clothes clung to a body that had grown thinner since the blue-haired woman had last seen him. Six months ago. And yet they'd never talked about Goku's death.

_I should have said something earlier. I mean, I even had a conversation with that idiot I live with about Goku, even if the might prince only grunted his replies. _

_I'm so sorry, Krillin._

His grief was so apparent, that a tiny crop of dark hair covered his head in a rough approximation of a buzz cut. Never, not even on Namek, had he allowed his head to remain unshaven for so long. Bulma was just surprised there was no sad facial hair to accompany the rest of his miserable appearance. Which was curious, now that she thought about it; why bring out the razor for his face, but not his head?

"Bulma!" His voice was cracked, tired from crying, and immediately lightening struck from behind them and sent its scream across the landscape. Krillin's eyes were damned and shadowed with exhaustion. His scream was louder and more horrifying than the thunder.

"I'm in love!"

* * *

Slowly, still obviously not familiar with the gesture, Krillin ran the towel over his head. Once determined that it was dry enough, he wiped his face once more and handed it politely to the robot nearby. He flinched a little as it muttered a thanks and rolled back into the hallway.

Another curious thing.

In the brightly lit domed house, Bulma could see his clothes. They were new, and much less dorky than usual. No pastels, or lewd phrases, and they even fit well. He'd gone _shopping _for his clothes, and into a decent store, and had maybe even talked to the store clerk to find what his actual size was. All of it was actually fashionable and _normal. _

Bulma nearly poured boiling coffee onto her lap with that last realization.

She could take in and understand one thing, the hair, the thinness, then the nice clothes. The crying was just par for the course with Krillin. But the 'love' thing…

"Why did you yell at me?"

"I thought you were one of the neighborhood kids."

The short man's look reminded her that he hadn't been around in some time, and missed out the daily drama of Capsule Corp.

"There are some kids that think it's funny to interrupt me by egging the building. Recently, they've been daring each other to ring the doorbell and run away."

"Can't you just get Vegeta to scare them off." Krillin's tone was more than half-joking.

Her hand balled into a fist. "I think_ he's_ the one that gave them the idea of the doorbell ringing …"

The scientist sighed, what could you do besides yell at Vegeta and refuse to fix his training chamber again, added sugar and cream, and handed over a hot cup to her friend. He took it gingerly, and took a small sip. Just when the small shoulders relaxed, Bulma struck. "Who is she?"

Krillin looked over the rim of his cup. There was guilt on that face she could read as easily as one of her blueprints. "Um."

"What did you do, Krillin?"

He gave a start and waved a free hand defensively. "Nothing. Really. I just wanted to ask...It's just," he sighed. The eyes were back to being dark and the gaze was turned inward.

"It's not Maron, is it?"

"No, no, I haven't seen her in years." The painless way he batted the idea away was another clue how serious he was. That and the new fitted jeans. Besides the declaration of love earlier for the unnamed, anonymous stranger who probably roamed around in some flashy car without the slightest clue she'd ensnared one of Bulma Brief's friend's heart. And that, that would not stand. If she was out there, and hurt Krillin in any way, she would have to suffer the blue-eyed revenge of Bulma. The poor guy had been through enough, and the last thing he needed was for someone to break his heart again.

His face though, it wasn't particularly sad anymore. Just melancholic and drawn.

Bulma tried to imagine the woman who could bring such a change to Krillin. Even with Maron, he'd still worn the same clothes and had never really cried just mentioning how he felt for her. She tried to remember what girls Krillin liked, and 'one's that so much as looked at him' didn't help her much. But still, amused, Bulma thought of a shy girl, dark-haired and -eyed; in the same vein as Lunch before she sneezed.

Maybe an exotic accent that would draw Krillin in and force him to do a bad impression of? Obviously, this nameless woman would have limitless patience for Krillin's antics, and her sweetness would be only outdone by her kindness. Her demeanor would be sunny, and she would have little in the way of aesthetic taste. This foreign, kindly woman would almost certainly have little knowledge of his life as a fighter.

"There is absolutely nothing I can do to win her over. I know this. There is no way she will like me back. I have an easier chance winning a fight against Vegeta."

"But still, I'm in love with her and there's absolutely nothing I can do." He rested his chin in the palm of his hand. "And it's great; I've never felt this way about anyone before. I would set myself on fire if it made her smile."

"Is that why you're growing your hair out? And the clothes?"

"Yeah," Krillin sighed again. "It doesn't matter. But she," a bright smile peaked out of the dark mood. "It's stupid, but I want to at least look good for her. Even if I'm not sure what she considers good."

"Can't you ask her? Shouldn't you ask her out? You can't just say you have no chance.

"-You have talked to this woman, haven't you?"

"I don't know. I've heard mixed things." Color touched his pale cheeks.

"She's into mind games then?" Bulma wagged an eyebrow. "And I'm guessing you might have talk to Yamcha."

Krillin swallowed. "Yeah."

"Is _he_ the one that said you had a chance?"

"Yes, but," he ran a hand through his hair. Then paused, as though amazed by the sensation. "It's complicated. She might actually like me."

"Well, what did _she _say?"

"She said, I quote, 'but it was really nice of you,' that she wasn't mad at me, and 'no thanks.'"

Bulma took a long sip of coffee. "I see."

"Yeah."

"What the hell did you do?"

He looked at his hands and arms for a long time. "I saved her life," but Krillin's voice was emotionless rather than proud.

"How exactly did you two meet?"

Something seemed to dawn in his black eyes. Panic began to creep in, and the guilt was back. "Oh, you know. Around."

"Around what?"

She could see Krillin reaching out for a lie. Grasping and struggling to fashion something into the truth. "Up north."

"When?"

"Oh, about six months ago."

"Does she know, about…well, saving the world?"

He nodded, thoughtfully. "I think she knows about everything."

"_Everything_?"

"Yep."

"And she didn't run away."

"Oh no, she's…fine with it."

"Well, then she's a keeper."

"She is?"

"If she knows about your history and about all the stuff we've seen and done, and _didn't_ run away screaming or calling you crazy, then hang onto her."

Krillin's eyes were turning distant, telling her that he'd shifted in daydream mode. "I really do like her." It was too sincere and sweet for her to roll her eyes at.

"Then maybe you should be telling her that?"

Then he was ducking his head. "I think she already knows."

"Have you asked her out?"

Krillin's mouth opened, then closed. "'Asked her out?'"

"Jeez, Krillin," Bulma finally was able to roll her eyes. "If you like her, ask her out."

The short man leaned forward, the dawn of revelation on his face. The blue-haired woman felt smug. "That is so crazy, it might work. I'll find her, and _ask her out_!" He pumped a fist into the air. There was a manic gleam in his eyes.

He hadn't slept in a long time, Bulma recalled.

Krillin jumped off the couch, going for the door until she grabbed his coat.

"Hang on! Aren't you going to tell me about her," she barked. This was too good of gossip to pass up so easily. She couldn't wait to rub it into Yamcha's face that Krillin had a girl while the fancy ballplayer was alone this Saturday. What were friends for, if not that?

"Do you remember Lunch?"

"Of course. The last time I saw her, she was bugging Tien and Chiaotzu about them building a room at their place solely for her gun and doll collection."

Krillin smiled. He zipped up his jacket, and Bulma was relieved to find he looked almost normal again. "She's a little like that."


End file.
